


Sweet Serenity

by acedavestrider



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Anal Sex, Humanstuck, M/M, Porn With Plot, band au, but only a little bit of plot if u know what i mean, nothing crazy, theyre in a shitty metal band because yeah, this is insanely vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 07:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15190115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acedavestrider/pseuds/acedavestrider
Summary: You eventually look back at him and have to take a breath when you see his expression.“Oh, come on,” you say.Dave raises an eyebrow, feigning playful innocence. “What?”“No wonder they talk about us so much,” you chastise. “Your bedroom eyes literally could not be more obvious if you were actually undressing me on stage.”





	Sweet Serenity

Dave is in a good mood tonight. You can tell. 

During the last weeks of the tour you’ve noticed how stiff he’s been, how little he seems to be aware of what’s happening on stage. You tried to come over to his mic and jam with him during vocal breaks, but he hardly acknowledged you. He kept up jokes with the crowd like he always does, but his heart wasn’t in it, his smile too soft to be real. 

He wouldn’t harmonize with you either and it completely threw you off. You sometimes rely on his upper register to keep your own tone in check, and not hearing him in your earpiece during the set was frustrating. You don’t think the fans noticed anything different, but you did. 

You knew better than to talk to him about it, so you left him be for a few days. You know how his moods are, how sometimes his brain will fuck with him for a week without relenting. No amount of feelings jams or heart to hearts will pull him out of his fog, and you’ve been around him long enough to know when he’s feeling bad and when he’s feeling Really Bad. 

It’s not the first time it’s happened, either. Tours are especially hard on Dave; constantly being on the road, meeting fans, and getting little to no sleep is not exactly conducive to treating major depression. This is only your third big tour, and it’s not like it gets easier. 

But over the last few days, you’ve seen him come back to his regular self. It’s like you can actually see him turn back into Dave after being Dave With Depression for a week. The amount of jokes cracked increased dramatically, especially if they’re phallic or otherwise vulgar in nature. The sunglasses came off more often and the eyes behind them were expressive and bright rather than far away and dull. He’s been smiling at you, and touching you, and it’s real, and it’s him. 

He catches your eye from his position at center stage. Although you’re technically the main vocalist, Dave has always been way more of a front man than you. 

The corner of your mouth pulls up as you look at him, thrilled to see the look in his eyes, excited and passionate. He grins back at you just as you move up to the microphone from where you’ve stepped back, moving into the bridge of the song. 

It’s your opening song, and the crowd is already going crazy. Rose even told you earlier that the venue had sold out. Ten thousand people start to sing along when you get to the chorus and you feel your heart rate spike with adrenaline. Dave’s smooth voice sings harmonies in your ear and your eyes drift from the crowd to him, watching his eyes close as he gets into the song. 

You end with a final shout from Gamzee and an eruption of screaming from the crowd. You step back as the lights go down and let out a breath of air, already sweating despite only performing one song. The collar of your long sleeved shirt is sticky and uncomfortable. 

The lights come back up to a dim, yellow hue and the crowd cheers again. Your set gives you a few minutes after the opening to change guitars and check tuning; you hear Sollux giving his drums a few experimental taps and fiddling with his drumsticks. 

Dave wanders over to you, guitar seemingly well-tuned and pushed behind his back. 

“I’m fucking dying,” you say to him. 

His hands are already outstretched to receive your bass and you slip it off your shoulders, handing it to him. You start to pull the shirt off your back to the tune of screams from the fans. You send them a playful middle finger and some of them laugh. The tattoos curling around your arms and neck are exposed as you take off the shirt and the relief that washes through you once the fabric comes off is worth the embarrassment you feel from having everyone’s eyes on you. You’re thankful for your foresight and the tank top you decided to put on underneath your shirt before you left; you’d rather die from heat stroke than ever be shirtless on stage. 

“I don’t know why you even wear that thing,” Dave comments as you toss the shirt backstage to Rose. 

“You know exactly why I wear it,” you grumble. Dave knows damn good and well how insecure you are about your body. 

“Yeah,” he says, handing you back your bass. He almost sounds sorry for mentioning it. “Your E string is a little flat.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

You take the instrument back from him and he’s right about your string, as always. You pluck at it a bit and fuck with the tuning until it sounds mostly right while Dave just looks at you. 

You eventually look back at him and have to take a breath when you see his expression. 

“Oh, come on,” you say. 

He raises an eyebrow, feigning playful innocence. “What?” 

“No wonder they talk about us so much,” you chastise. “Your bedroom eyes literally could not be more obvious if you were actually undressing me on stage.”

“Man, can you really blame me?” He gestures to you with a broad hand movement. “You’re over here taking your clothes off and looking like a fucking snack.” 

His eyes sweep back down your body to make his point, and you suppress the shudder in your spine. 

“For fuck’s sake, Dave.” 

You see Sollux signal to you that time’s up and you need to start the next song, so you turn back to Dave with the sternest expression you can muster. 

“Later,” you say. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” He gives you a toothy grin that makes you even warmer than you already are. 

You point to his microphone. “Go introduce the song you fucking jackass.” 

He winks at you, always the master of subtlety, and addresses the crowd. 

“How y’all doing tonight?” he says into the mic. His voice always takes on a lower, gravelly tone when he talks to the crowd. It makes you shiver sometimes.

The crowd shouts in response, a chorus of vowels and shrill sounds. 

“We’re Sweet Serenity,” he introduces, “and we’re so happy to be here in -- fucking-- uh, what city are we in?” 

Sollux shouts from behind you, “We’re in D.C. you asshole!”

“We’re so happy to be in D.C. and the surrounding tristate area,” Dave finishes, drawing laughter. “This next song was written by our very own Gamzee Makara.” 

He throws a hand out to his left to where Gamzee, frizzy haired and smiling lazily, is standing. This gets even more noise and Gamzee waves shyly. Someone in the crowd shouts that they love him.

“It’s a song about doing drugs and how they’re bad for you, I’m sure you’ve heard it before,” Dave continues. “So remember to stay in vegetables and eat your school; this song is called Product of a Murderer.” 

 

* * *

 

The middle of your set features the acoustic song you wrote with Dave. You were all hesitant with releasing it at first -- metal bands don’t normally do acoustic shit -- but the positive reception it got was overwhelming. It’s one of your most popular songs. 

Gamzee and Sollux head back stage for the song, leaving just you and Dave on stools in the center, overlooking ten thousand people. The original song features background instrumentals, like violin (courtesy of Rose) and eventually drums and a second guitar at the climax of the piece. But on stage, performing, there’s none of that. No backing track, no other instrumentals, just you and Dave. 

You try not to look at him too much as you sing; you chastised him earlier about being obvious and you don’t want to do the same thing. People online already think the song is about him. It’s not; it’s about Terezi. Or it was, at least. You’re not so sure anymore. 

You haven’t gone public with your relationship yet. It’s not like it’s a major secret, but it’s not quite common knowledge yet despite how many people are already convinced you’re together. It’s not that you and Dave are scared that the fans won’t be accepting, especially considering how supportive they were when Gamzee and Tavros’ relationship came out. In fact, the band has received more support than you could have imagined despite being the least straight and least white group of people to join the scene. It’s like the start of a joke -- A Chinese guy, a Mexican, a black dude, and a Filipino walk into a bar and decide to start a band. The fact that you gained any traction into the genre at all is a miracle.

You just don’t want to push your luck. Gamzee and Tavros went public way before you were ever selling out shows or going on tour for months. More fans means a higher chance of getting rejected. If you and Dave put the success of the band in jeopardy you would never forgive yourself, and who knows what kind of strain it would put on your relationship. 

You swallow and decide not to think about it. 

Ignoring your previous fear of being obvious, you turn and sneak a look at him. 

You’re used to the way he plays during your heavy songs, eyes scrunched up and mouth curling in something close to a snarl when he hits particularly high notes. When he’s not singing with you he’s playing with his whole body, never staying in one spot for too long. You’re used to the way he sticks his tongue out when he gets really into the rhythm, the way he gets up to the edge of the stage to make the fans yell and reach out to him. 

You’ll never get used to the way he plays this song. 

He closes his eyes almost every time he starts to sing, complimenting your melodies with his harmonies. He leans in close to the mic, lips almost touching it but barely moving around the lyrics. Everything about him changes from fast and chaotic to slow and steady. You can’t help looking at him. You’d think everyone was looking at him if you couldn’t feel their eyes on you too. 

Dave opens his eyes at the end of the verse, pulling back from the mic and continuing to softly pick his guitar. He catches you staring, and instead of winking or grinning at you like he would at a different moment, he just smiles, and his eyes are so fond you have to look away. 

You feel ten thousand and one pairs of eyes on you as you move into the last parts of the song, your voice reaching a higher pitch, strained. While the crowd had been singing along before this, they stop suddenly during the final moments of the song. You’ve never quite understood why, but whenever you bring it up with Dave he says it’s because no one can sing the song like you can. You recall him saying the same thing when you insisted that he perform the higher parts of the song due to the difference in your ranges. He wouldn’t let you argue with him. 

The lights go out when you finish the song, shutting off suddenly with the last notes. You and Dave stand up, immediately getting shuffled into the back by the stage managers so they can remove the stools and set up for the next song. In the backstage flurry of switching guitars and adjusting earpieces, Dave pulls you towards him by the fabric of your tank top. You open your mouth to ask him what he’s doing, but he stops your words with his tongue and kisses you just long enough that you consider ditching the rest of the show to make out with him. 

“Not sure if you guys forgot but we kinda have a show to finish,” Sollux whisper yells at you, clicking his drum sticks together impatiently. 

You can barely see in the darkness but you’re sure Dave rolls his eyes. You follow him back onto stage as the lights come on and only let your hands linger on his waist as long as you’re sure no one can see you. 

 

* * *

 

You go out for drinks after the show to celebrate. It’s late but you’re all running on adrenaline and still riding the energy from the crowd. Rose flirts with a very tall and very pretty bartender and manages to get you all a free round of drinks, then briefly congratulates you on a good show and disappears entirely for the rest of the night. You can only imagine what she gets up to. 

The four of you clink you drinks together and your bourbon tastes even better knowing that it’s free. You eye Gamzee from across your table and he catches your gaze, giving you a small, questioning smile. You pointedly look at his drink and raise your eyebrows but he just gives you a thumbs up and sips at his beer. Gamzee’s had problems in the past with drinking and although he’s been doing well the last few months you’re worried that the atmosphere of the night will push him to drink more than he usually would. You don’t like to see him drunk if you can help it. 

You try to focus on the story Sollux is telling but you can’t pay attention with the way Dave keeps shimmying up next to you in your booth. He puts his arm around your lower back as you both lean onto the table and one of his fingers pokes underneath your shirt. When you look at him accusingly he just smiles back at you, cheeky and fully aware of what he’s doing. 

Sollux takes a closer look at the two of you feigning innocence and stands up with a roll of his eyes. He pokes Gamzee on the shoulder. 

“Gam, you want anything?” 

Gamzee nods. “Yeah, I’ll take a motherfucking uh….” 

Sollux watches him try to form a coherent thought for fourteen seconds before pulling on his shirt sleeve. “Yeah, I’m not doing this all night,” he says, irritated. “Come with me.” They leave for the bar, Gamzee trailing slowly behind a faster Sollux. 

You turn to Dave once the two of you are alone. “You’re driving me crazy,” you say with an exaggeratedly annoyed expression. 

“In a good way or a bad way?” 

“Yes,” you deadpan. 

He just grins and sticks his face into your neck in an odd gesture of affection. You sip at your drink and absently check your phone while the warmth of Dave’s body presses against your side. You like to find fans’ posts from the show if you can and either like them or comment; the reactions always make your day. 

Unsurprisingly, you find a bunch of posts about you and Dave. It’s becoming a bigger trend on social media to post pictures of the two of you together with captions about how you’re in a secret gay relationship which, you guess, you are. You find it kind of weird how much time people invest into proving that you and Dave are dating. You’ve seen masterposts full of theories and “evidence” that you’re together, and the fact that a lot of them are based on truth is a little unsettling. You don’t normally like those posts. 

You tilt your screen to Dave, whose face is only half buried in your shoulder. He sits up straight to take a closer look at a specific post. 

“Holy shit,” he says, taking the phone from your hand. He almost sounds appreciative when he speaks next. “There is some  _ effort  _ in this, dude. Like some real X-Files shit but if Mulder and Scully were teenage girls obsessed with gay stuff. Scully you’re not gonna believe this Dave and Karkat looked at each other for eleven seconds today and I got it on  _ camera _ .” 

You take the phone back from him and scroll through the post again. “Do you think we should tell people?” 

“I mean they’re pointing out shit about us that I didn’t even know we did. Like,” he glances over your shoulder, “apparently I look at you like we’re lovers torn apart by the knowledge we can never be together. That seems pretty legit if you ask me.” 

“In the next picture it says I let my hands linger everytime we touch each other because I’m aching for more.” 

“Well that one’s obvious,” Dave says. “I mean, maybe if you were a little more subtle people wouldn’t be frothing at the mouth over this shit. Like I know you’re into me and everything but the way you pretty much cream your pants every time you interact with me is a little embarrassing for you.” 

“Says the guy who was about to blow his load on stage in front of thousands of people because I took my sweater off,” you scoff. “Is your dick still hard from staring at me a few hours ago or have you returned to your perpetually crass and annoying default state of being?” 

Dave puts his hand on his chest in a wounded gesture. “God dude, if you’re gonna come for my personality like that at least give a guy some warning first?” 

You just shake your head and put your phone down, stretching your arms above your head as Dave’s hand moves from your back to your upper thigh. He really doesn’t give up and you can’t help but appreciate his perseverance. You can’t exactly blame him either; the two of you have hardly had any alone time the last few weeks. Unless your schedule allows for a night in a hotel you’re stuck on the bus with three other people. You have no idea how Gamzee manages, being away from Tavros for long periods of time. 

Dave has just started to whisper something extremely inappropriate into your ear when Sollux and Gamzee reappear, drinks in hand. Sollux sees the state you two are in and sighs. 

“Gamzee wants pizza,” Sollux explains as he settles back into his seat across from you. “There’s a place a few blocks down that’s open late if you guys want to--”

“Nah,” Dave interrupts looking directly at you. “We’re gonna go back to the bus.” 

Sollux looks at you for a moment before going, “Really guys?” 

You look at him innocently. 

“It’s the last leg of the tour,” he says with strained patience. “You can’t wait to jump each other’s bones until next week?” 

You blink. Dave takes a nonchalant sip of his rum and coke. 

“Just get a fucking hotel for a few hours!”

Sollux knows full well you don’t have that kind of time; you have to be on the bus by three in the morning at the latest in order to make it to the next venue with enough time to set up tomorrow. Getting a hotel would be cutting it far too close. And you don’t want to be rushed. 

“I fucking hate you two,” Sollux grumbles. He looks at his watch, sighs, and looks back at you. “I’m gonna be back on the bus by two-thirty and if you guys aren’t done by then I swear to Christ- ”

“We’ll be done,” you interrupt with a hand up. “Promise.” 

“I literally can’t stand either of you,” Sollux continues. “I’m quitting the band.” 

“Okay, bye,” Dave says quickly, sidling out of the booth. He disappears outside while you address Sollux. 

“Thank you,” you say. “Seriously. I owe you one.” 

“You owe me more than  _ one _ , dickwad.” 

“See you at two-thirty!” you call, escaping from the booth and joining Dave outside. You hear Gamzee as Sollux where you’re going. 

When you find him loitering outside the bar, Dave puts a casual arm around your shoulder and starts walking in the direction of the venue. The bus is parked behind the building you performed in, partly underground. It’s a short walk but you’re starting to get restless, leftover adrenaline from the concert mixing with a newer adrenaline in the form of trying to fuck your boyfriend in a tour bus. 

You’re relieved to see that no fans have gathered around the tour bus this time around. It’s been a more frequent occurrence as of late, but the bus is pretty secure at this venue; you had to go inside and show your IDs just to get the gate around the area unlocked for you. 

Dave barely lets you step inside before he’s all over you, pulling you closer by the belt loops of your jeans and smothering you in a deep kiss. You can’t help sighing, body going limp as he presses you against the wall. It’s been  _ so long _ . 

He thumbs at your hip bones, fingers trailing up your sides under your shirt. Knowing what he likes, you bring a hand up to his hair, curling your fingers around dyed blonde hair, not exactly pulling but not being gentle either. The groan that rumbles deep in the hollow of his throat says he’s just as eager as you are. 

He responds this way every time you put your hand somewhere else, as if he hasn’t been touched in years. No matter how often you sleep together, he always acts touch-starved, melting into every stroke or caress. You love it. 

He also loves kissing. Forget sex, he’d stand here and kiss you for hours if you let him. Despite your mutual impatience, Dave kisses you long and slow, almost hesitant, as if it’s your first time all over again. He focuses so completely on your mouth, his lips against yours steady and unhurried. When he finally pulls away to move to your neck you bite at your bottom lip, puffy and a little swollen. 

“Should I blow you or no?” you ask, hand on the back of Dave’s head. 

He pauses to laugh, breath hot against the junction of your neck and shoulder. “God no,” he says. “Unless you want me to last like two minutes.” 

He’s right; neither one of you are going to last long as it is. You gently push him away from you to take off your tank top, moving to take Dave’s shirt off afterward. He lets you, lazily lifting his arms, and stares at you with a soft, glazed look that’s so sincerely enamored you almost can’t look him in the eyes. Shirts gone, he pulls you back to him, kissing you again for just a moment before moving towards the center of the bus. 

Dave leads you to the booth by the window, then stops. “Fuck,” he says. “Fucking Sollux.” 

You look behind you, finding the table of the booth seat covered in Sollux’s shit - two laptops, a bunch of wires, a camcorder, some guitar pedals, and a bunch of other unidentifiable technology. 

“God dammit,” you mutter, turning away from Dave. 

The booth is a necessity if you want to get anything done. If you move the table and rearrange the cushions it’s almost equal to a full size mattress, much more practical than trying to fuck in one of the tiny bunk beds you have to sleep in. Except Sollux’s shit is all over the fucking table. 

“Okay, let’s just… fucking move all this,” you say, irritated. Even when he’s not here Sollux is cockblocking you. 

Dave laughs good-naturedly and helps you move some of the electronics, taking them to Sollux’s section of the tour bus. 

“Don’t break anything or he’ll fucking kill us,” you say. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dave replies, flippant. “Just hurry up, my boner’s dying. Gonna come out of the vet’s office in a goddamn blanket, get buried in the backyard and shit. Gonna put it’s favorite toy over the grave and then have a good fucking cry about it.” 

“Why did you personify your dick as a pet and not a human?” 

Dave grunts, trying not to drop a bunch of cables. “I don’t know dude, all the blood is rushing to my groin and I can’t think straight.” 

“You’ve never thought straight a day in your fucking life and you know it,” you say. 

You can practically hear him grinning. “You’re right.” 

Shit out of the way, the two of you convert the booth seat into a makeshift bed. Dave perches himself on the edge of the cushions and you stand between his open knees, bending down to kiss him again. He scoots backwards until he’s fully on the seat, pulling you down on top of him. 

You kiss for a bit longer, faster and more impatient than before, until Dave mumbles a breathless “Okay” against your mouth. You both sit up, pulling off the rest of your clothes in a jumbled, rushed mess. You’ve still got your fucking shoes on for Christ’s sake, so it takes even longer to get everything off. 

“Lube?” Dave voices softly. 

You roll your eyes and stand up; he makes you do everything. You rummage around in your bunk and come back with a small bottle and some condoms, rejoining Dave on the cushions with the intention of staying there for quite a while. 

You lean over Dave, chests flush, and, realizing you haven’t given him much attention beyond kissing, start to touch him in small, short strokes. He closes his eyes, chin tilting up and mouth opening slightly in a silent groan as he presses into the seat. You continue for a bit, opening and slipping the condom onto him in between strokes. You squeeze cool gel out of the bottle you brought and run a teasing, wet finger along his length. 

“Good?” you ask quietly. 

He opens his eyes to give you a nod and a wink and you press a finger into him, as slowly as your desire will allow. Dave’s back arches slightly and he grasps for you, hands catching on your waist, touching you wherever he can reach. His hands slide up and down your back in light caresses. 

You add another finger, keeping your motions slow and long for the time being. Dave’s mouth looks so sweet, puckered and pink, that you can’t help but kiss him again, messily this time. Your brain is too busy paying attention to your fingers that you can’t focus on your lips, nipping and sucking at Dave’s. You pick up the pace of your hand, waiting for Dave to give you some indication that he’s ready for more. 

Despite being so talkative in his everyday life, Dave is a remarkably quiet lover. Even after a few months you still have to pay close attention to his body language to figure out if he’s even remotely enjoying himself when you’re together. It took several tries to get any noise out of him at the beginning and still requires a lot of effort. Effort you’re willing to make. 

A small twitch of his hips is enough to make you pull your hand away knowingly. Dave makes a small noise somewhere between an exhalation and a groan, knees spreading instinctively before he changes his mind and sits up. 

You struggle with opening another condom and huff when you hear him laugh at you. 

“Shut the fuck up, my hands are wet,” you say. You wipe excess lube on his abdomen to make a point. 

“Ew,” he laughs again, taking the condom from you, and you move to lie on your back, hard and wanting, quickly losing your higher brain functions. The condom slips on easily with the help of Dave’s hands and he takes a seat on your hips, knees splayed on either side of your body, holding himself above you. A little maneuvering and he pushes you inside, slowly settling down on your pelvis, hands on your stomach. Hair hangs in his eyes as his head dips down. 

“Fuck dude,” he says after letting out a breath. “This was such a good idea.” 

You chuckle at his sincerity, gently holding onto his hips. You try to keep your own body still, pressed down into the cushions below you, until Dave starts moving. He does, after giving himself a moment to adjust. He rolls his hips, once, unbearably slow, then again, faster.

“Jesus,” you hiss. 

“Nope just me,” Dave snarks back, voice little more than a mumble.

You give him a good-natured pinch on the ass and he laughs at you, bending to give you a quick kiss before sitting up again and picking up the pace. He pushes into you then pulls up, hips twisting in light circles. You can’t help the unintentional twitch of your own hips and the subsequent push into Dave’s body. 

He gives you another quiet noise, not much more than an exhale, and bends over, hands on either side of your head, to get a different angle. 

“Hey,” he whispers to you, face closer now. 

“Hi,” you say back, emphasizing your words with a pointed drive of your pelvis. Dave makes a sound like a hiccup in response and you suppress a chuckle. 

You kiss, uncoordinated and messy, as your bodies go into autopilot and find a tempo together. Dave returns to his original position after a moment, tired of holding himself up above you, and grins down at you. He pushes hair out of his face, head tilting backwards as pleasure flows through him. 

He holds your torso down, doing most of the work himself, hips rolling in smooth, quick motions. You take one of his hands and bring it to your mouth, laying kisses on his knuckles and fingertips. You push up into him when he pulls away, seeking as much contact as possible, not bothering to hold in any of the sound you make. Unlike Dave, you’re incredibly noisy, and he doesn't let you forget it. 

He grinds down on you particularly hard, forcing another loud noise from your throat. You start to feel pleasure coil in your lower stomach, pressure building up and seeking release. You take firm hold of Dave’s hips, pressing him down in order to keep yourself deep inside him, riding out your orgasm through pushes and thrusts. You shudder under him for a moment, letting out a long, deep groan. 

“Keep going,” you say thickly. 

“You sure?” Dave asks. His voice is unsteady and soft, shaking with need. 

You nod; you’re sensitive but not unbearably so. 

He follows your instructions without much more protest, riding you to his climax within a few moments. He lets out a gust of breath and a nearly imperceptible whine as he orgasms, stomach muscles clenching and unclenching. 

You stay together for a minute or two after. You go back to kissing Dave’s hands as he threads your hair between his fingers, curling it behind your ears and pushing it off your forehead. He meets you halfway when you prop yourself on your elbows, kissing you deeply and with so much emotion that you feel it pound in your chest. 

Then he says, “Okay my asshole hurts,” as he gets off of you and the moment passes. 

You roll your eyes and sit up, spent. The two of you clean up and you take a second to thank whatever higher beings there may be for the fact that you had condoms in your bunk. Who knows what would have happened if Sollux found any bodily fluids in the bus. 

You forgo putting your clothes back on, grabbing a blanket from your bunk instead. The two of you settle back onto the cushions, damp and now cold skin soothed by the soft blanket. Dave lifts an arm for you to scoot under and you lean into him, hand on his stomach. Something suddenly occurs to you. 

“I think we should tell people,” you say, voice thick and raspy. Singing and sex have ruined your throat for the night. 

“Yeah?” He sounds hopeful. “You sure?” 

“Yeah I mean… what’s the point of hiding it?” you ask rhetorically. “Especially since everyone pretty much knows already.” 

Dave laughs, “That’s true,” then presses his nose to your forehead, kissing you between the eyebrows. “When do you wanna do it?” 

You sigh and lean over the side of the booth, rooting around for your jeans. You find them and tug your phone out of the back pocket, returning to Dave’s arms as you hold it up. 

“What about right now?” you ask. 

Dave just smiles at you, wide and genuine, as you open up your front camera. “Okay, yeah,” he says softly. 

You take a picture of the two of you from the waist up, smiling, shirtless, and clearly post-coital, and post it to your instagram. Dave, surprised by your spontaneity, laughs and kisses you, pressing closer. Notifications start coming in a mile a minute almost immediately, but you toss your phone back on to the floor, not quite having the energy to care yet. Instead, you settle against Dave’s body and stay there, for as long as you can. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> on a scale of one to ten how fucking obvious is it that i have no idea what im talking about??? im guessing an eleven  
> tried to keep this subtle/not super explicit without it being confusing, i just didnt want to write the word cock even once because i just cant handle that  
> also when it comes to dave i have two sex headcanons or sexcanons if u will  
> 1 - asexual   
> or 2 - fucking power bottom   
> ill fight everyone on this i dont even care  
> thanks for reading!


End file.
